


Hateful Tears

by B_Uthoughtwrong



Series: The Things I Hate About You [12]
Category: King Arthur: Legend of the Sword (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, But i dug my grave years ago, F/M, Fluff, Reader-Insert, i know my summary is weird, uncle!goosefat bill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 16:55:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24270196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B_Uthoughtwrong/pseuds/B_Uthoughtwrong
Summary: A drabble-y take on the twelfth line, but actually eighth hated thing, of the poem in the film 10 Things I Hate About You."even worse when you make me cry"~After getting rescued, Arthur teaches you how to wield a sword
Relationships: Arthur (King Arthur: Legend of the Sword)/Reader
Series: The Things I Hate About You [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/717732
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25
Collections: King Arthur LoS Fave fics





	Hateful Tears

**Author's Note:**

> boi it's been so long since i wrote this i dont even understand my own summary UHM

_[I hate it] even worse when you make me cry_

* * *

How long had it been since I’ve felt the grass beneath my feet? How long since I’ve had a decent meal? And how long will I’ve to wait for someone to save me? Save us?

It was pure luck that I remained here for the entirety without being so wholly dishonored by the slave pushers that ransacked my tiny town. The other women were not.

These ruffians that bound us in chains and metal bars came one day to our quiet little down and killed all the men, taking the women and children to sell as slaves. Today was my day. There were only five of us left to sell.

The heavy marching came close to our quarters. My hiding in the corner would be no good, for there was no one left to hide behind.

But in the gush of the wind, there was a loud howl of pain and horses neighing as they galloped. I tensed in behind my cage, looking to the one to my left me where a woman named Yolly was curled up in fear.

There were slashing sounds, gnashing, and thrashing.

The door opened and I reeled back at the light of the moon.

One by one, our locks were being broken open. A man came to open mine and walked in, causing me to squeal in protest. I kicked and screamed, he coiled back, raising his hands, “I’m going to set you free.”

My heart dropped at the sound of the familiar voice. My heart pounded as he began to pick the locks on my ankles. I felt my tears well and burn in heat. The man cursed and fiddled with my binds as the dark was hindering him from doing this any quicker.

“Uncle Bill,” I managed to croak, though it was incoherent.

The man could not make it out it seems as he didn’t respond. Once the chains on my ankles were gone. He took my hands. Overwhelmed by the recognition on his face, I took his wrist and began to sob.

The man froze and spared me a look. I quickly breathed in and out, “it’s me… it’s me.”

He gave second before working again and unlocking my chains. He led me up and out of my cage. The sensation was almost foreign and bewildering. It was then I realized I we were the last to exit the prison room. Resentment filled me when I found I moonlight was too bright for my eyes.

I held in a wail when my bare feet felt the grass. My chest and head felt suddenly so heavy.

The man who was still holding my hand examined me. I turned to him and felt my throat tighten. I choked out, “uncle Bill.”

He still couldn’t understand. He knit his brows, “where are you from, girl?”

My hands started to shiver. I pulled away slowly from him. I held myself up and mustered all my strength, “It’s me!” I whined with a broken voice. “Can you not recognize me?”

Suddenly, the man’s eyes widened, and he spoke my name. All at once I felt the world was spinning. No longer could I feel my body. I felt like I was about to die. Maybe… it was for the better.

My eyes fluttered open. My body ached. There was a cloth tied above me like a tent. I realize I am on a large bed with soft cushions. I turn to my hands; I am clean. My mouth is not dry.

I turn down to see I am in a white under dress. I rip the blankets off me and feel cool stone beneath my feet. There is a window before me, with a wonderous view of the forest and a cliff by the ocean. It seems like the sun had yet to shine

I take a moment and stand. I walk out of the large room that smelled of olive oil and exit.

The halls are empty. Eventually I wind up by the stairs. Slowly I descend and make my way past great doors that lead to undeniably great halls. And yet I am only drawn to the light at the end that lead outside.

The dirt beneath my feet turn to grass as I reach the cliff. There is not a soul in sight. Only the echoes of the waves crashing against the shone was present. I see, perhaps this was heaven.

I continue walking to the edge slowly, closing my eyes, breathing in deeply.

This might be peace.

“Hey!” a voice screams behind me.

I halt and turn over my shoulder slowly. A man with blonde hair and a sword in hand treads over with a fierce expression. He is so large I have to look up to him.

He gives me a gravely concerned look. _Ah…_ “are you my angel?”

His expression falters for a second. He knits his brows. I turn away from him and watch the sea, “is this heaven?”

In the silence, the man understands. A hand in placed on my shoulder, “you’re not dead.”

I turn to him, eyes quickly glassy with tears. Suddenly, I am unable to halt my tears from falling “Who are you?”

“I’m with Goose F—your uncle,” he corrects, “my name is Arthur.”

Tears stream down my face. I feel so helpless.

He drops his sword when I begin to topple over. He catches me on his chest. He shushes me as I weep, “you’ll be alright, dear.”

“How do you know what’ll become of me?” I crack out.

“You’ve reached this far,” he offers, “you’re stronger than you think.” He coos and pulling back, looking at me. He wipes my tears. I turn to the ground.

“I hate crying.”

He squeezes my shoulders slightly.

“You’re making me cry even more.”

“I… sorry,” he says, pulling away slightly. I look up at him, water blurring my vision. “Teach me.”

He knits his brows, “what?”

“How to fight with a sword.” I look up at him and feel my stomach burn, “I want to know how to defend myself, so I’ll never be taken again.”

Arthur seems to understand the gravity of my words. Yet he still shakes his head, “another time,” he takes his sword and my wrist, “after you’ve regained more of your strength.”

As he led me to back inside what I realized now was a castle, a man came running out in haste. My lips parted, “Uncle Bill.”

Arthur turned between us and promptly made room, releasing me. The man huffed and ran to me, sealing me tightly in his arms.

* * *

“This is unfair,” I huffed, making stay hair in front of my face fly off. Arthur laughed and pointed Excalibur at me, and I slashed at it with my lesser weapon.

It had been a whole full moon since I was found. A moon since I mourned the death of my fellow prisoners for none of them survived the illnesses they got from being locked up so long. A moon since I’ve to looked at my face in the mirror, not being able to recognize myself. A moon since Arthur found our captors and brought justice to all who had been abused.

A moon since he’s been teaching me swordsmanship, and me trying to talk him into using his blade.

“Excalibur is not for every man,” he placed a hand on his chest, “but for the king of kings.”

I roll my eyes and lunge at him. He quickly dodges my attack and pushes me off, knitting his brows, “very good form.

“Yes, may I claim your honor from your arrogant arse.”

We begin ripping our swords together, and moving in a roundabout motion.

 _“10 quid Arthur kisses her first,”_ Bill crossed his arms as Percival and he watched the spectacle from the watchtower. Percival scoffs and chuckles, “You’re on for 20. I wager she kisses him then steals Excalibur.”

I groan when metal rips across my shoulder. Arthur freezes then curses, “I’m sorry.”

I turn to my wound then up at him. I charge at him and quickly attack, left, right, left, until I manage to unarm him and point my blade to his neck. Arthur raises his hands. Bill and Percival make amuses sounds from afar.

“I surrender, princess.”

I growl at him, “I should have your head for your teasing.”

He smirks as I pull my sword away from him, “you’re right. You look more like a queen to me.”

Before I even know it, Arthur charges and rids of my weapon, pushing me hard enough that we crumble to the floor. I whine at his weight presses on my chest and his face too near mine, “You heavy oaf!”

“Now,” he pushes my wrists down on either side of my head, “that’s no way to address your king.”

“You are not my king!”

“Well now I’m just wounded.”

“Says the man who ripped my shoulder open.”

“… I said I was sorry.”

“And yet I’m still bleeding.”

_“What the bloody hell his happening?”_ Bill growled, straightening up. Percival slapped his shoulder, “let ‘em be, goose fat. They’re just talking.”

Arthur is examining my face and I am examining his. Eventually, I am flustered and try to break away from him. He shakes his head, “you’re beautiful.”

My cheeks burn though I shut my eyes, “maybe I used to be…”

“No,” he whispers, “you are.”

Our eyes meet again. I lick my lips and turn to his, “… aren’t you going to kiss me?”

Hot air flairs from his nose, “… well, you did just disrespect the king.”

I huff and try to push him off, but I halt when his lips finds mine.

Bill claps his hands, _“Right, 20 quid.”_ Percival points at the sudden change of events, “She just stole Excalibur though!”


End file.
